


World and Enough Time (Stories From the Loop)

by Jackdaw816



Series: Time Loop 2.0 [2]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Destructive Behavior, Sharing a Bed, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26622997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackdaw816/pseuds/Jackdaw816
Summary: This time loop ain't big enough for the both of them
Relationships: John Hart/Ianto Jones, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Time Loop 2.0 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936777
Comments: 22
Kudos: 37
Collections: Torchwood Fan Fests: Bingo Fest 2020





	1. Athens

**Author's Note:**

> Title from me misremembering the quote "World Enough and Time" and realizing that my version actually makes sense, so... suck it, Andrew Marvell
> 
> This takes place in the middle of [Let's Do the Time Warp Again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016673) and goes into detail about certain events therewithin
> 
> Thanks to [DaphneTheAdipose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaphneTheAdipose/pseuds/DaphneTheAdipose) for betaing!
> 
> Squares filled: Accidental marriage, cold/warm, bed sharing, plants/vegetables

**Day 88, Cycle 15** ****

**Athens, Attica, Greece**

Ianto knew more about John then he’d ever wanted to. Nothing important like his real name or what planet he was from or anything about Jack. No, he’d only learned the little annoying details, 

John snored (how did such a small man make such a loud noise), he left his boots on the sofa (why), and he smoked constantly (both cigs and weed). Ianto could only imagine how bad it would be if they stayed in any place longer than five days. He had horrible visions of dishes piling up, hair clogging the shower drain, empty milk jugs left to sit in the fridge. And he thought Jack was bad. God, he missed Jack.

They’d decided to stick together (after two very awkward cycles apart), but Ianto was growing to regret that decision. This cycle, they’d been in Athens for about three days, in which John had already managed to irritate Ianto in every way possible. It reached a peak when Ianto returned to their rented flat to find John with a hook-up for the second time that cycle and what felt like the fortieth overall.

“Fucking hell, John,” Ianto groaned, averting his eyes as he walked in. John broke away from the dark-haired bombshell on his lap and grinned lazily at Ianto.

“Sorry,” John said, not sounding sorry at all. He pulled his hand out of his partner’s jeans with a frown. “Wasn’t expecting you back until later.” Ianto just twitched and swore under his breath in Welsh. John’s partner glanced between them and smiled nervously.

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“His roommate,” Ianto said flatly before John could lie. “Sorry to interrupt, but I think it’s best that you go now.” She nodded and clambered off his lap. She picked up her purse from the table, mouthed ‘call me’ at John, then was out the door in a flash. John made an exasperated noise and sat up, adjusting his jeans.

“We could have all had some fun if you weren’t such a modern bloke,” John said, tone implying just what he thought of modern blokes. Ianto glared at him.

“You are such a prick.”

“Ooo, you’re mixing it up. Prick this time, not twat or bastard. Exciting,” John drawled, spreading his legs indolently. Ianto wanted to punch him. He had a few other choice words to share, but he swallowed them. Be the bigger man.

“You have my mobile number, would it kill you to send a text letting me know you have company?” Ianto asked, making his way to the kitchen. He needed a drink and he knew John would have the good stuff stashed somewhere. “Or hell, hang a sock on the door. Works for uni students, it can work for you. You have about the same level of maturity.” John whistled as Ianto found a bottle of ouzo and started digging around for a glass.

“Eye Candy’s got teeth. What crawled up your arse and died?” Ianto slammed the glass on the counter a little harder than necessary. He was tired from the Grecian heat and while he wasn’t looking for sympathy, he was looking for quiet. God, just a little quiet instead of John nattering on about whatever inane thing crossed his mind.

“Why do you suddenly give a shit?” Ianto spat, opening the bottle of liquor and pouring himself a drink.

“Who said I do?” John retorted. “I just want to know if you’re gonna be stompy and huffy all evening or if you’ll be, well, not fun, but at least not a bore and a prude.” Ianto spun around; another insult on the tip of his tongue. It was stopped by the flick of John’s lighter. 

“I thought we agreed that you’d stop smoking in the flat,” Ianto said lowly as John lit up the joint. John shrugged.

“S’not legal here, can’t exactly go outside. And since you’ve set my other entertainment running-” John took a deliberate drag, and Ianto wrinkled his nose when the smoke reached him. He knew John took pleasure in irritating him; the best thing to do was ignore him. But guess what, Ianto was irritated and just ignoring him seemed too small of a penalty.

He left his glass on the counter and stormed back into the living room. John grinned up at him and offered him the joint. Ianto took it, then dropped it and ground it beneath his heel. Shitty carpet be damned, it wasn’t like it wouldn’t just reset. John gaped at him.

“It's ‘puff, puff, pass,’ not ‘puff, puff, stomp angrily,” John commented, staring bitterly at the fallen joint.

“Would it kill you to have a little decency?” Ianto yelled. John blinked up at him, shocked that he’d raised his voice. “I’m not saying be nice; I’m not even saying be cordial! Just acknowledge that you’re not stuck in this alone and your consequences have fucking actions!”

“Careful, honey, you might wake the neighbors,” John said sardonically. He stood and tried to push his way past Ianto, but Ianto grabbed his shoulder.

“Do you get that this isn’t a fucking joke?” Ianto asked, low and cold. “Because I can’t tell if you’re fucking with me or if you’re actually this stupid.” John pried Ianto’s hand off his shoulder with ease but didn’t move, just stood there, shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Oh, believe me, I know exactly what’s going on,” John said. “I’m basically a fucking expert on time loops at this point. Three more and I get a free pizza. So I know that the best thing to do is give up.”

“Give up,” Ianto repeated scathingly. “Oh, what a great life motto, I’ll just give up whenever anything gets just a little too hard.” John glared at him, but Ianto wasn’t done. “Is that why Jack left you? You just gave up on-” John slapped him, the smack echoing in the open room. Ianto stared at him, hand going up to his face.

“Don’t presume to know anything about me,” John said, his voice subzero. He pushed past and Ianto let him, watching shocked as John went into the kitchen and drained Ianto’s glass. He knew Jack was a sensitive spot for John, but apparently he hadn’t realized just how sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” Ianto said. He didn’t know what else to say. He’d obviously crossed a line, but nothing else with John was how it seemed, so why should this be? John laughed.

“No, you’re not. You wanted to hurt me, so you said it, and you meant it,” John said with a shrug. “You’re a fighter. I admire that.” He tossed the glass in the sink and Ianto flinched at the sound of shattering glass. 

John stalked back into the living room, his movement fluid but deadly, like a tiger on the prowl. “So, go on,” John offered, spreading his arms wide. “Froth and rage, get all your anger out.” He stepped closer, deliberately in Ianto’s range. “Then stop trying to swim upriver before you drown. Better a live coward than a dead hero.” 

Ianto punched him, rage flaring in his chest. John crashed backward into the armchair, bleeding from the lip. Despite how his knuckles ached and his face still burned, Ianto smiled. It felt good.

“I’m not a coward,” Ianto said, confidence increasing. He crossed to the chair, then grabbed John’s shoulder and pinned him to it. John grinned up at him, so relaxed for a man in danger.

“Never said you were,” John said, chest heaving. Ianto grinned back, then reached down to John’s belt.

“Good. Now, I want you to keep this in mind the next time you piss me off.” John’s eyes flickered with confusion. 

“Keep what in mind?” John asked. Ianto cocked the gun he’d lifted from John’s belt.

“This.” The shot was surprisingly loud. Ianto dropped the gun in shock and backed away, snapped back to reality. John raised a blood-soaked hand and laughed. Ianto wanted to vomit. Oh god, John or not, there was a reason his weapon of choice was a stun gun.

“Well played, Ianto,” John said, bemused. He winked at Ianto, his breathing growing shaky. “Well played.” He closed his eyes and, within moments, was still. Ianto stared for a moment, shock searing the imagery into his mind, then ran.

They’d ended a cycle with death before. Their fourth cycle, they’d chosen the wrong flight to Jakarta. There’d been screaming, panic, and a strange calm cascading over the empathy link from John. Ianto supposed he’d tried to be helpful, clear Ianto’s mind and allow him to focus. It left him feeling numb and guilty, sitting calmly amidst the panic, knowing they’d likely be the only survivors. They’d died on impact and when they’d started cycle five, Ianto refused to leave the warehouse until John found a way to dampen their connection

Ironically, with the link fatally severed, Ianto felt like he could feel it stronger than ever. As he fled Athens, he could feel John’s pain and betrayal, his loneliness and anguish. Even when Ianto finally managed to calm himself down enough to think, all he could think was that he had blood on his hands.

He made his way to the train station, then hurled himself in front of the next train.

Their sixteenth cycle started with a punch from John, alive and well. Then before Ianto could even consider apologizing, he’d suggested they visit Montevideo, and that had been that. Ianto didn’t protest. How could he? 

They never brought it up again. But when John, unasked, went up on the roof of their Uruguayan flat to smoke, Ianto bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.


	2. Barcelona

**Day 181, Cycle 32**

**Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain**

Waking had almost been gentle. Ianto had a hangover, but the room was dark, and so it was just a minor throb in his temples. The bed was soft and he had rolled over to try and fall back asleep and sleep it off. It wasn’t like he had anywhere to be. 

Then he’d opened his eyes to see John, inches from his face. He was asleep on his stomach, not snoring for once, face turned away. One hand was tucked under the pillow, but the other rested on top, perfectly in Ianto’s line of vision. And even in the dim light of the room, even with Ianto’s sleep-addled brain, there was no mistaking the golden ring on his finger.

Ianto bolted upright, covers sliding off his shoulders. It was bad enough that he was in the same bed as John, that had happened before when limited space forced them into proximity. But having no memory of how he’d gotten there, or any memory of John getting _married_ , well, that was more than a little concerning.

He looked around the room cautiously. It was their place, although it looked like they’d thrown a party, the place was trashed. But unless John’s bride was hiding in the bathroom, it looked like they were alone. Good. He really wasn’t fancying being the third wheel. Even if it would just reset and whatever poor Spaniard John had conned into marrying him would be back in their life, no problem.

Sighing a breath of relief, Ianto ran his fingers through his hair. His hand snagged, and he frowned. Dread setting in, Ianto looked at his hands. There was a wedding band on his right hand, a perfect twin of the one on John’s. Ianto took about two seconds to ponder why the right hand before swearing so loud it set John bolting upward, knife in his hand.

“What’s wrong, Eye Candy?” John asked, eyes scanning the room, knife ready to fend off the non-existent attackers. Ianto was almost impressed by how quickly he snapped to wakefulness. Soldier’s instincts, he supposed. Well, mercenary’s instincts.

Ianto held up his hand and glared. John visibly relaxed, dropping the knife back to wherever it had come from. Ianto belatedly realized that they were both shirtless, and although John was down to his boxers, Ianto was still wearing yesterday’s trousers. He also had the knot of his tie around his neck, the shell having been cut off haphazardly. Ianto frowned; he’d liked that tie.

“Oh, that,” John said nonchalantly. He put a hand to his mouth to stifle a rising yawn. Ianto hit him with a pillow, and he yelped. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

“You might want to rethink that statement,” Ianto said coldly, pulling off the remains of his poor tie.

“Hey, it takes two to tango,” John rebutted. He swung his legs over the side and stretched, back muscles flexing in a way that Ianto totally did not find appealing, nope. He noticed a small tattoo on John’s left shoulder blade, but John moved away before he could make out any detail. “And trust me, Ianto, you were quite the dance partner.” Ianto froze, dread filling every molecule of his being.

“We didn’t,” Ianto said, more a prayer than a question. He forced his mind back, trying to remember anything more than the comfortable numbing of the liquor. John had dragged him out to a club, and they’d both gotten absolutely pissed. He’d remembered leaving the club, and then nothing. John looked over his shoulder and winked.

“We didn’t what?” John prompted. “We did so many things last night; I’m not such which one you mean.” Ianto snarled, literally snarled.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Ianto said. John sighed.

“No, we didn’t have sex. But we did get married.” Ianto swore, then flopped back down on the bed and buried his face in his pillow. “Relax. It’s not like it’s permanent.” Ianto tilted his head just enough so he could talk.

“You’re my husband for the next two and a half days because I’m certain getting an annulment isn’t even worth bothering after all the strings you must have pulled to get us married in the first place.” 

“I’m really more of a wife,” John purred from across the room. Ianto scoffed and rolled onto his back. 

“Really, how did you get us married? We’re in Spain, I’m Welsh, and you don’t legally exist,” Ianto said. He was fairly certain one couldn’t just waltz into Spain and get married, even if it was one of a handful of countries that would allow them to get married at all.

“Trade secret,” John said vaguely. Ianto propped himself up on one arm and stared at John. He was standing by the mirror, and his reflection made eye contact with Ianto.

“Really? That’s all you’ve got to say?” Ianto said disbelievingly. John shrugged.

“Who cares about the how? What really matters is the why.” John raised an eyebrow suggestively. “Someone’s been holding back.”

“The why of our marriage is alcohol,” Ianto said stiffly. “And the fact that there even is a marriage at all shows that neither of us can hold our liquor.”

“On the contrary, I believe it proves that I can,” John protested. He lifted up his jacket from where it was draped over the back of a chair and rummaged inside to find a flask. “No ordinary drunk could get married anywhere other than Vegas.” He undid the cap and took a dramatic swig.

“Ah yes, because you’re such an extraordinary drunk,” Ianto mumbled. Honestly, how could John even think of alcohol? Ianto just wanted to sleep until he woke up in cycle thirty-three, single once again. Well, not single, but in the realm of the loop, it was close enough.

“Yes, yes, I am,” John said, preening. The man managed to take everything as a compliment or fire back with a rejoinder that hurt twice as much. Sometimes both. Yet again, Ianto found himself almost impressed. _Almost._

“I’m going to take a shower,” Ianto said, sliding out of bed. He felt gross, skin crawling from suppressed memories and dried sweat. John smirked as Ianto walked by him, but Ianto was unaffected. “You’re not invited.”

“Shame!” John called as Ianto slammed the bathroom door shut and clicked the lock defiantly. Ianto looked at himself in the mirror and sighed. God, his head still hurt. He stripped, then almost forgot the ring. The fucking ring. He slammed it on the counter a little harder than necessary and got in the shower. 

God, he hated this. He hated all of this. He’d mostly accepted being stuck in this godforsaken time loop, as much as you could accept such a thing. But sometimes something like _this_ would happen and Ianto would regret not just shooting John the second he’d reappeared in Cardiff. 

He turned the hot water up until it burned against his skin. It hurt less than the cacophony in his head. When the water had gone lukewarm, he stepped out and wrapped an incredibly plush towel around his waist. He sighed when he realized that he was going to have to go out in the main room to find clothes. Scooping the ring into his hand, he unlocked the door and stepped out. 

Thankfully, John had gotten dressed while Ianto was showering. He was perched on the desk, hotel phone to his ear, nattering on in Spanish so fast Ianto didn’t even try to guess what he was saying. He noticed Ianto and whistled.

“Hell-lo, handsome,” John said, covering the mic of the phone. Ianto rolled his eyes and secured his towel. “I’m getting room service, want something?” He raised an eyebrow. “Chorizo?”

“Go to hell,” Ianto said flatly. John laughed lightly and turned back to the phone. Ianto crossed the room and started to rummage around for clothes. 

“Gracias, querida,” John purred before dropping the phone back on the base with a click. He crossed his legs under himself and tilted his head at Ianto. “Nice arse.” Ianto sighed as he pulled a shirt over his head.

“Say one more thing and I’ll push you off the balcony.”

“We’re above the pool; I’ll be fine,” John said, waving a hand. “Speaking of the pool, care to soak up some rays?” He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his jacket and nestled them in his hair. “The sky is clear, the sun is high, and you could afford to lose your pallor.”

“My god, do you ever shut up?” Ianto mumbled, fumbling with his belt. 

“Make me,” John challenged. Ianto threw the ring at him. It bounced off his chest, and he caught it on the rebound. He slipped his own ring off his finger and held them both up to the light. “These are rather poor quality.”

“What a surprise,” Ianto said, slipping on his shoes. “A pair of drunk foreigners got scammed, who would have guessed it?” John shrugged and tucked the rings away. Then he pulled out a mobile. Ianto’s mobile. Ianto patted his pocket, unsurprised when it was empty.

“When did you steal that?” Ianto asked begrudgingly.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” John said, eyes never leaving the screen. “Ah, I was right. There is video.” Ianto froze for a few seconds before rushing over to John’s side.

“Show me,” he demanded. John’s face split in a grin and he turned the screen toward Ianto, thumbing up the volume.

“As you wish.” 

The footage was grainy; Ianto hadn’t gotten his mobile for the camera quality. It showed a bar, not the same one Ianto remembered going to last night. There were a handful of people around, but John and Ianto were the focus of the shot. He had no idea who was filming, but they laughed when another stranger draped some lacy veil over John’s head.

“You can’t be serious,” Ianto said, holding back laughter. John shrugged and adjusted the lace over his shoulders.

“When in Spain, do as the Spanish do,” John quipped back. He rubbed at the lace delicately. “Such a beautiful mantilla. ¿De quien es esta?” The question was directed at the lady pressing a bouquet of delicate white flowers into his hands. 

“John,” Ianto said, a shamefully pitiful note in his voice. John laughed. The woman responded to John cheerfully, then dropped a golden ring into Ianto’s palm.

“We don’t even do rings back home, but I’m not one to turn down precious metal from a handsome man,” John said as Ianto slid the ring onto his finger. Ianto rolled his eyes. 

“Just give me mine, idiot,” Ianto said, slurring just slightly, accent much thicker. John smiled almost fondly and slid the ring onto Ianto’s finger. A cheer rose up among the crowd, then a chant. Present Ianto had no clue what they were saying, but obviously Past Ianto did because he took John’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply. The crowd cheered and the video cut out.

“No,” Ianto said, pulling his mobile out of John’s hand. John chuckled as Ianto paced across the room. “No, no, no, no, no. That did not happen.”

“But it did!” John crowed. “Video proof.” Ianto marched over to the balcony door, slid it open, and pitched the mobile out. He smiled when he heard the splash, then quickly closed the door before anyone could tell which room it had come from.

“No more proof,” Ianto said triumphantly. John clucked his tongue and pulled another mobile out of his jacket. (How many pockets did that jacket have?) 

“You really think I didn’t make copies?” John teased, waving the mobile from two fingers. Ianto felt his heart drop. There were a few moments of tense silence before John laughed. “Relax, Eye Candy, it doesn’t matter anyway.” He tucked the mobile back away. “The reset, remember?” Ianto sighed.

“I hate you,” Ianto said, burying his face in his hand. John just cackled again. “If you tell Jack about this, I will cut your dick off.” 

“Kinky,” John drawled although his hands curled protectively over his crotch. “But fine, I won’t tell Jackie what a lousy kisser you are. Although…” John trailed off and grinned. “You could try and prove me wrong.” He raised an eyebrow suggestively, and Ianto threw a pillow at him.


	3. Juneau

**Day 366, Cycle 65**

**Juneau, Alaska, United States**

Ianto had no idea how he’d let John talk him into going to Alaska. He thought he knew cold, but he was _wrong_. The coldest winter in Wales was nothing compared to the Alaskan chill. It rarely dipped below freezing back home, here, it hadn’t dipped _above_ freezing. And most infuriating of all, John was loving it.

“How do you still have feeling in your limbs?” Ianto grumbled, bundled in the biggest, warmest parka he could find. Meanwhile, John was still wearing his thin jacket, although he’d deigned to don a pair of dark gloves. Ianto had offered him a hat, and he’d laughed for about five minutes straight. Ianto gave up; when he got frostbite, he’d learn.

They were taking a snowmobile out to the cabin John had rented and Ianto was regretting giving in. It was bumpy, cold, and he had to hold John around the waist just so he didn’t fall off. John drove fast, but surprisingly in control. Ianto almost asked if he’d driven one before, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to know.

“This is practically balmy, Eye Candy,” John said with a laugh. “If this is bothering you, then I can never bring you home. You’d probably freeze upon landing, and wouldn’t that be a waste.”

“Home?” Ianto asked, clinging tighter as John took a sharp turn. He still knew next to nothing about John’s past.

“Birthplace,” John corrected. “A colony planet lightyears away from here where this weather would be considered a heatwave.” John fell silent for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t had a home in a long time.”

Ianto was even more curious now, but John changed the subject, commentating on the wildlife and other meaningless things he noticed as they sped by them. Apparently, Ianto had gotten under John’s skin. And without even trying. Ianto didn’t want to think about what that meant.

“There it is,” John said eventually, nodding his head in the direction of the small cabin steadily growing larger in the distance. Ianto sighed, his breath clouding in the air. Finally, warmth. 

John pulled to a stop out front and dismounted with ease, boots sinking into the snow. He offered Ianto a hand, and Ianto took it after rolling his eyes. John reached in his coat and pulled out two keys, silver and bronze.

“Go inside before you freeze,” John said, dropping the silver key in Ianto’s gloved palm. “I’ll get this cleared up.” Ianto nodded gratefully and trudged through the snow toward the cabin door. He almost fell down the slick stone steps and swore lightly. It took him three tries to get the key in the lock with his cold, stiff fingers, but eventually, he succeeded and managed to slip inside.

Out of the wind, Ianto lowered his hood and sighed. The cabin wasn’t comfortably warm, but he could fix that. He peeled off his gloves, shucked his boots, then went hunting for the thermostat. He cranked it up to a comfortable temperature, mentally translating the Fahrenheit to Celsius as he went. The heater kicked in as John bustled through the door.

“So, Eye Candy, what do you think?” John asked, shedding his own jacket and boots. Ianto shook off his parka as he looked around. The cabin was nicely furnished, with a fireplace along one wall. Ianto couldn’t wait to build up a roaring blaze. There were two doors set into the far wall, presumably leading into the bedrooms.

“I think you should stop calling me Eye Candy or I’ll leave you out in the cold,” Ianto said, stifling his impress. John pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense.

“I’m wounded, darling,” John said, grinning broadly. Ianto’s eye twitched. He didn’t think he would ever get used to John’s antics, no matter how long they spent together.

“No nicknames, John,” Ianto said, resigned. John raised his hands innocently, then went to check out the kitchen. Ianto sighed. John’d knock it off for an hour, or a day, maybe an entire cycle if he was feeling lenient. And then it would be back to Eye Candy and a whole other host of vaguely affectionate and teasing nicknames. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it.

“I found wine!” John called, popping out of the kitchen with a bottle in each hand. Ianto turned and walked toward the bedrooms without comment. He was still too cold to deal with this surprisingly cheerful version of John. Guess he really did like the cold. He filed that detail away, then resolved not to ponder it any further.

The door on the left turned out to lead to a large bathroom complete with a jacuzzi-like tub. He’d definitely have to give that a try, after locking John out. But if this room was a bathroom, then that meant-

Ianto hurried to the right door and flung it open. The bedroom was spacious and neat, the simple artwork and soft rugs giving off a cozy feel. The setting sun cascaded through the windows and sent dappled shadows over the bed. The one, king-sized, but only one bed. That was covered in rose petals.

“John!” Ianto yelled, fuming. Despite Ianto’s insistence that they would never shag, that hadn’t stopped John from flirting, hinting, and overall being a pain in the arse. But this was absolutely ridiculous.

“Yes, dear?” John drawled, sauntering into the room. His eyes lit up when he saw the room, but his smile dropped when he saw Ianto’s stony expression.

“What the fuck is this?” Ianto snapped, gesturing at the bed and those damned rose petals. John visibly relaxed, making Ianto want to yell at him again.

“Oh right. The place had a nice discount for honeymooners. So I said it was our honeymoon.” John shrugged. “We never went on a honeymoon after Barcelona.”

“I thought we agreed not to talk about Barcelona,” Ianto bit out, clenching his fists. He looked back at the bed and noticed a small card sitting on the pillows. He picked it up and flipped it open. “‘Congratulations, John and Ianthe Hart.’” Ianto threw the card on the floor. “Ianthe? Really?”

“This country is a bunch of bigoted hicks,” John said dismissively. “This planet, honestly. So worried about dividing yourself into neat little categories that you’re willing to maim and suppress anyone who dares fall outside your concept of normal.”

“Now you sound like Jack,” Ianto said, crossing his arms. “Pitying us backward fools and our quaint little categories. Well, I hate to break it to you, but some of us like the labels. We like knowing there’s a place we fit. It’s better than being alone.” John didn’t say a word, just watched him cooly. It was almost worse than an argument. Ianto ran a hand through his already-mussed hair and sighed.

“Clean those petals up,” Ianto ordered as he pushed past John on his way out of the room. “And next time you’re taking my name.”

“Yes, sir,” John drawled, and Ianto kicked the door shut with a satisfying thud. John was getting better, depending on your definition of better. But sometimes Ianto just wanted to bash his teeth in. Honeymoon discount? Bullshit. Their money always reset. And he doubted John was dumb enough to forget that. He was actually quite brilliant, but much like Jack, he was terrible at actually putting his knowledge to use. 

Ianto sighed and went to find the wine John had mentioned earlier. He understood now why John was constantly buzzed. Everything hurt less when you were numb. He’d been there before, in those days after Lisa. Jack had helped him then. There was no one to help him now.

He was halfway through the first bottle when John reappeared. He leaned over the back of the couch and snagged the bottle out of Ianto’s hand.

“Share,” John admonished gently. He took a swig then jumped over to sit beside Ianto. He kicked up his heels on the table and relaxed into the cushions. “This couch is nice.”

“Good, you’ll be sleeping on it,” Ianto said bitterly. John stared at him, mouth agape, as Ianto stole the bottle back.

“Oh, c’mon, Eye Candy!” John whinged. “I paid for the place.”

“With stolen money,” Ianto pointed out, taking another drink of decent-at-best wine. It was true. Whenever they landed someplace new, John used his vortex manipulator to crack a local bank vault while Ianto looked the other way. It wasn’t like it wouldn’t reset, he reasoned. But he was careful to not let that reasoning seep into things he would remember and regret when this was all over. (Part of him was starting to lose hope. It had been a year. He wasn’t sure he could take another four.)

“Yeah, money that I stole.” He took the wine bottle back, and this time Ianto let him keep it. “Therefore, my money, and my bed that you can’t kick me out of.”

“Well, I’m not sleeping out here,” Ianto said, although John was right, the couch was rather nice. “I’d suggest we share, but I’m afraid I don’t trust your intentions.” John laughed, the sound echoing in the high ceiling. 

“Trust me, Ianto,” John said, grinning deviously, tone cold. “If I wanted something from you; I would have taken it.”

“That shouldn’t be reassuring,” Ianto muttered, crossing his legs up under him. And yet it was. Ianto knew he shouldn’t trust a word John said. But he also knew John had no reason to lie. It was comforting, as much as a homicidal madman could be a comfort. Ianto sighed. “If you try anything, I’m locking you outside.” 

“Deal.” John offered his hand, and after a moment, Ianto took it. His hand was cold, and his grip was strong, almost painfully so. Ianto didn’t know why he expected anything else. Then John dropped his hand and reached for the remote.

A few hours of shitty American telly and the second bottle of wine later, Ianto yawned. He tried to stifle it, but John noticed anyway. “Turning in?” he asked, hitting the mute button. Ianto shook his head but yawned again. “You should. You’re a right bastard before coffee, even more so when you haven’t properly slept.”

“Shut up,” Ianto muttered, even though he was right. “You don’t even drink coffee.” John flicked the TV off.

“Caffeine's too weak to bother suffering the taste,” he said with a shrug.

“And yet you drink Red Bull,” Ianto muttered, getting to his feet.

“‘Cause Red Bull tastes good,” he argued, standing as well.

“It tastes like battery acid.” Ianto shook his head. “Let me try, I’ll bet I can get you addicted to caffeine properly.” John just laughed and slipped away to the bedroom.

(The very next morning, Ianto presented John with a perfect cup of coffee. John had promptly desecrated it with too much sugar, a splash of whiskey, and more goddamn Red Bull. Ianto quickly gave up his coffee quest on account of John being a heathen who was going to give them both heart attacks.)

Ianto tossed the empty wine bottles in the bin, then walked toward the bedroom, undoing his tie as he went. The sooner he got into bed with John, the sooner he could get out of bed with John. A sentence he would hopefully never repeat under any circumstances.

John had drawn the curtains closed, and clicked on the lamp by the bed. Luckily, the bed was rose petal free. He’d managed to get that right at least. He was sitting on the bed, shirtless, faced away. Ianto stepped into the room, hardwood floor then plush rug under his bare feet.

“John?” Ianto asked softly. No response. As he approached, he noticed John’s tattoo again. Dark ink stark on his shoulder blade, simple letters half an inch tall. Well, Ianto assumed they were letters, they weren’t in any language he recognized. Almost as if compelled, he reached out. Just before his fingers grazed bare skin, John grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t touch if you don’t mean it, Eye Candy,” John teased, tone light, grip painful. Ianto pulled his hand back and muttered an apology. “If you want to know, just ask.” Ianto swallowed hard and turned away. John chuckled slightly, slipping under the covers. 

Luckily, they’d never argued about sides of the bed. When they did have to share, John took the right, and Ianto stole the extra pillows and nested on the left. Ianto missed sleeping with Jack. He was the perfect triad: pillow, heater, and boyfriend all in one. And he didn’t fucking snore.

Ianto stripped partially, ignoring how John was almost certainly staring at him. He kept an ear open, listening to the comment he knew was to come and preparing his retort. But then he turned around to find John not even looking his way. The ex-time agent had burrowed under the thick comforter and turned away from Ianto’s side of the bed. Ianto supposed he should be grateful; it was rare that John wasn’t talking. Which made it all that stranger.

“John?” Ianto asked, getting in bed himself. A sleepy-sounding ‘hm?’ answered him. “You alright?” John laughed, or at least Ianto thought it was a laugh.

“Just tired,” he said with a sigh, shifting slightly. “This bed‘s very nice.” Ianto had to agree, it was very plush. He rolled onto his side and was presented with a perfect view of John’s tattoo. Five letters, obviously something meaningful. His curiosity flared again.

“John?” 

“Yeah?” The question was on the tip of his tongue, but then he bit it back. He rolled onto his stomach and forced his gaze away.

“Night.”

“Night, Ianto,” John replied, an odd mix of disappointment and amusement tinging his tone. Ianto clicked off the lamp and nothing more was said.


	4. Amsterdam

**Day 548, Cycle 97**

**Amsterdam, North Holland, The Netherlands**

Nothing felt real anymore, but Ianto supposed that was just whatever John had given him kicking in. Normally, he left the drugs to the addict, but after eighteen months, Ianto was willing to try anything to shake up the monotony. Even this.

Now, the only thing grounding him was John’s hand heavy upon his knee. John was speaking, the cadence of his words sweeping Ianto away and leaving him lost from their meanings. He didn’t remember moving, but suddenly John was underneath him. He grinned lazily up at Ianto, pupils dilated, chest heaving. 

“See, told you we’d have fun,” John said, words suddenly ringing clear. He struggled half-heartedly, but Ianto held him fast. Part of him enjoyed this, having John at his mercy. He was disarmed for once, gun belt far across the room, jacket over the table. Ianto could do absolutely anything he wanted.

John didn’t move, just watched coolly as Ianto closed slender fingers around his throat. God, it would be so easy. Just a little pressure and no more bastard John. As a rule, Ianto was against the taking of innocent life, but John was far from innocent. He’d killed him before; he could do it again.

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly, and John’s breath hitched. Figured that the fucker would get off on this. Problem was that he wasn’t the only one. Oh, it had been such a long time. Fuck it. Pulse thudding under his palm, Ianto leaned in and kissed John Hart.

John kissed back eagerly, not the least bit wary about the hand at his throat. Ianto let him go anyway, choosing instead to wrap that hand around the back of his head, fingers running through surprisingly soft hair. He wouldn’t deny the tension that had built between them, and this was definitely his preferred way of letting it out. ‘Cause, damn, John was good at this.

Ianto wasn’t sure how much time passed losing himself in the comfort of a warm and willing body. (Even if John’s hands were ice-cold, he still put them to fine use.) He could smell John’s pheromones, so like Jack’s and yet so different. But eventually, logic managed to break through the drug-enhanced haze and Ianto pulled back.

“Wait,” Ianto panted. To his surprise, John did, leaning back against the cushions best he could with Ianto still straddling him. He’d also lost his shirt, a move Ianto was sure he’d made, but did not remember. Several rising bruises trailed up his neck, leading from a bite on his collarbone. 

Sober Ianto would have been embarrassed, but High Ianto just wanted to mark him more. Put a claim on him, make something that would last, at least for the next six hours. Unfortunately, logic and the memory of sobriety won out, and Ianto clambered awkwardly off of John.

“What’s wrong, Eye Candy?” John said, disappointed. He adjusted his jeans, and Ianto pointedly looked away.

“I said I wasn’t going to shag you,” Ianto said defensively, accent coming out in full force. “Jack-”

“Would love to watch,” John pointed out, probably accurately. “Haven’t you talked about this with him? Set up boundaries?” Ianto laughed.

“Boundaries? We haven’t even named,” he gestured vaguely, “whatever this is between us.” John whistled low. 

“And yet you’re saving yourself for him. How retro.”

“S’not retro. It’s common decency,” Ianto muttered. “Something you wouldn’t understand.” John shrugged.

“Fair enough.” He leaned closer to Ianto, hand back on his knee. “But I do understand Jack. And I guarantee he will forgive you for just about anything that you do in here. After all, he’s done it too.” Ianto pushed John’s hand away and stood up, flustered.

“You don’t know Jack,” Ianto snapped. “He’s not the same lawless bastard he used to be. He’s not like you!” John flinched, but covered it well. He leaned forward, arms on his knees.

“But he still forgives,” he said softly. Ianto stares at him, face stony. “If you’ve won his heart, he’ll forgive you forever and a day. Even if you don’t deserve it. Even if he doesn’t want you anymore.” John’s voice dripped with bittersweet longing. 

Ianto knew exactly what John meant. He knew how it felt to be forgiven for irredeemable sins. John stood, not trying to gain the high ground, just level the playing field. Ianto wasn’t sure if he wanted to step away or step closer.

“He’s changed,” he said instead. “And I think for the better.” John nodded slowly.

“He’s a new man. Not the one I fell in love with. But that doesn’t stop me from loving him.” John sounded genuine, as genuine as Ianto had ever heard him. He suddenly felt weary, the adrenaline thudding through his veins dying down. Ianto collapsed back on the couch, running a hand through his hair.

“We may be shit at communication, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need him,” Ianto admitted. John hummed an approving note and sat as well.

“Don’t worry, Ianto. He needs you too.” Ianto’s head snapped up, but John was turning to reach his shirt, draped awkwardly over the far arm of the couch. His ink caught Ianto’s eye yet again and this time, Ianto’s inhibitions were far looser than a bottle of retrospectively shit wine could make them.

“What’s your tattoo say?” John stiffened, a slight tensing of the shoulders, then relaxed. He turned around to look at Ianto, shirt crumpled in his lap.

“Javic,” John said, the syllables falling naturally off his tongue. He was watching Ianto’s face carefully. Was he looking for recognition? If he was, he wouldn’t find it. 

“What’s it mean?” Ianto asked. John relaxed minutely.

“It’s a name. The name of a man long dead.” His tone warned not to push it, and so Ianto didn’t. But when John moved to put his shirt back on, Ianto caught his arm.

“Leave it off.” John grinned and tossed it on the table. 

“Oh?” John said, one hand going innocently to his waist. Ianto swallowed hard, but stayed strong. 

“I may have sworn not to shag you, but I didn’t say anything about a snog.” John grinned even brighter.

“Rules-lawyering, I like it!” He moved almost too fast to notice, straddling Ianto with practiced ease. John bent to press kisses along the pale expanse of Ianto’s neck, and Ianto relaxed. John was right; Jack wouldn’t care. If anything, he’d ask to be invited to the encore. But just to be sure…

“John.” John looked up, his gray-blue eyes dark. “I need to set those boundaries you mentioned.” He rolled his eyes, but sat up properly.

“Alright, shoot,” John asked. He nipped absently (and attractively) at his bottom lip, and Ianto almost said fuck it all. Instead, he took a moment to calm himself, ignoring the man perched on his thighs.

“This is only tonight.” Ianto wasn’t sure he trusted himself to stop if they carried on. Better to leave it all behind in Amsterdam. “If you tell Jack about this, or tell anyone, I will remove your limbs with your own sword.”

“Dismemberment, classic,” John said, unperturbed. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Ianto breathed exasperatedly. “Stop talking.”

“No prob-mph.” John was cut off by Ianto’s kiss. He had been searching desperately for an escape, and for a little while, in John, he’d found it.

(“So, if I blow you, does that count as a shag?” “No, I don’t suppose it does.” “Brilliant.”)

**Author's Note:**

> This is completed and the chapters will be posted every other day. Thanks for reading!


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